


straight forward then turn

by michelleSorta



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 10:13:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8886985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/michelleSorta/pseuds/michelleSorta
Summary: Ginny really likes green smoothies. The scruffy looking barista is a different story.





	

Ginny has to leave.

She is sorely out of place, she surmises, as she slowly swivels around in the office chair.

That, and the scene unfolding in front of her is clearly telling her to heed her gut instinct to flee.

This week’s corporate sponsor representative, a sharply dressed woman with a burgundy-lipped smile, is in the midst a stand-off with Amelia. For the past thirty minutes, both women had been sitting in front of one another in complete silence. Ginny’s contract with the potential sponsoring company, heavily marked with Amelia’s black pen with comments and X’s, laid between them on the varnished mahogany desk.

Ginny politely excuses herself with a soft murmur regarding fresh air and a snack.

According to Elliot, who tries to explain to her as she rushes out the door, that this is typical Amelia behavior - especially when dealing with clauses and such with particularly finicky sponsors. It’s all business jargon that Ginny does not care for.

She knows she should care about the sponsorships and money. She only has a high school education after all. She doesn’t know how long she can or will be able to last in this sport - biology is not kind and neither are many of the people.  

Ginny just -

She didn’t intend to break a glass ceiling.

She just wanted to play ball.

She ducks her security, shoves her headphones on, and sprints off.

She breathes in.

One foot forward.

Then another.

She breathes out.

The soles of her shoes harshly hit the pavement.

She just.

Runs.

There is no direction. She runs straight until she sees the red light at the crossing walk.

She turns right.

She runs straight.

She hops over a puddle and narrowly misses stepping on a snoozing pit bull with a lime green beanie over its head.

There’s construction on the road. She looks both ways before crossing to the other side of the street and continues on forward.

Her calves are burning and her lungs are about to give out when Ginny finally slows her run to an almost limping trot. Sweat drips down her brow and back and she coughs slightly - her throat is parched and her body trembles from exertion.

She looks around - nothing really looks familiar.

Then again, despite her near two month stay in San Diego, she hasn't really gotten to explore the city she's supposed to be representing.

She frowns - aside from the Clubhouse, hotel, various corporate sponsored events, and begrudgingly, her therapist, she hasn't really gotten to do anything for herself.

Ginny's tummy interrupts her downward spiral of self-reflection.

She checks her phone. It’s a little past two.

Also, she may have sort of missed seventeen calls and two dozen texts.

She sends a text to Amelia and Eliot, reassuring them that 1). She’s not dead and 2). Worse, speaking on camera without Amelia vetting her words. She immediately silences and pockets her phone.

After all, her therapist did mention that she should put her phone away when enjoying a meal in order to ‘experience and embrace the moments of life’ more fully.

A little bell rings when she opens the door. The hinges creak slightly as the door closes shut and she is hit with the warm and familiar smell of freshly ground coffee beans.

It's a quaint little cafe. It has an eclectic array of furniture, from typical wooden and metal chairs and tables to a few sofas scattered around near the walls and corners. There is a recliner with a snoozing girl near the window - her headphones are on and a book is covering her face from the sunlight. Ginny is taken aback but amused by the four feet tall iron statue of what looks like an abstract salmon in mid-jump in the center of the seating area. It has a knitted moustache balanced delicately on its beak. This cafe must be a hotbed for students since there are outlets near all the tables and chairs and what looks like a grad student, surrounded by papers, and clearly on the verge of tears.

She can empathize with him.

“What can I get for you today?” A guff voice from behind the counter breaks her reverie. A barista with curly blond hair greets her. His eyes flicker scan her face. “Haven’t seen you in here before.”  

Ginny braces herself, her shoulders tight.

He smiles, professional, as he directs her attention to the large menu boards with scrawling and semi-legible handwriting behind him. “I’m sure you’ll be a regular after you try our drinks,” says assuredly.

 “Bold words.”

“Which I can proudly back up.”

She leans on her heels to look at the menu. She is surprised and relieved. He hasn’t asked for a selfie. Or worse, criticized her on the double-play she let past her in last week’s game. “Hmm, now the pressure’s really on. I hope you’re ready to impress.”

“I enjoy a challenge,” he replies. He turns around to give her time to mull about her choices. “Take your time. I’m ready whenever you are.”

“I appreciate it.” And she does. She doesn’t get much time to think about her choices, especially when it pertains to off the field.

Ginny reads over the menu, contemplating the café’s offerings. However, her eyes can’t help but wander over to the barista. He has his hair in a messy bun and has nice wide shoulders for someone with such a trim build.  While… she doesn’t necessarily enjoy it, usually people give her more than a once over. Just the other day, a family in a minivan did a U-turn in the middle of late afternoon traffic after spotting her eating lunch outside near the stadium in order for the two daughters to grab a selfie with her.

She appreciates the attention and adoration, but at the same time, it’s oddly refreshing to be treated like a normal person for once.

Like another nameless face.

Her stomach grumbles, reminding her why she’s here in the first place.

Ginny smiles - there's a Padres’ Pina Colada frozen drink. She's about to order it when she spies a tall glass cup behind the counter - it's perturbingly green. “What's that?”

“Huh? Oh, my own random recipe from the result of a slow day,” he turns around and grins, “I just call it a green smoothie.”

“Kale?”

“Collard greens, actually.”

“What do you know about collard greens?” She teases.

He narrows his eyes while leaning forward as if to tell her a secret. She leans towards him as well, curious. While looking at her directly, he states, “This white boy definitely knows something about collard greens.”  She stares at him, mouth slightly ajar before she ends up in a fit of giggles. He chuckles, amused by himself and endeared by her reaction; she can see the slight blush of pink on his cheek bones.

“I'll have what you're having then,” says Ginny, finally. She hasn’t laughed like this in a long time. It's in that moment that her stomach noticeably growls again.

She blushes.

She sees the barista smile at her, amused, before politely turning away to prepare her green smoothie.

“It _is_ still lunch time,” he offers.

“I didn't eat breakfast aside from a protein shake,” Ginny admits. “What do you recommend?”

There is deli fare - sandwiches, salads; the normal thing. She doesn't really have a taste for anything. It all sounds good.

“The club sandwich and side of sweet potato fries are the special of the day,” he replies as he places a glass of water in front of her. A thinly sliced lemon floats serenely on top. “You look like you needed a drink first.”

“It looks like I’m at your mercy today,” replies Ginny as she takes a seat at the bar counter, her hands already reaching the glass of water. Her legs are starting to cramp. “I'll have the special and a green smoothie please.”

“Coming right up.”

He refills her water two more times while in the process of making her green smoothie. He easily glides behind the bar, throwing cut up pieces of fruit, a large glug of what looks like almond milk, and shredded collard greens into the blender. Lastly, ice, and then the blender is whirling away.

It takes one sip to win her over. “Yum!” Her green smoothie takes like mango and pineapple and, thankfully, not like the odd wheatgrass stuff that Amelia occasionally drinks in the morning. She can taste the slight bitterness on the back of her tongue from the collard greens - it’s a pleasant balance to the sweetness of the fruits.

“It's a favorite of my son’s too,” the barista says casually while rinsing out the blender.

“Your son has good taste,” replies Ginny. “How old is he?”

“Six going on sixty,” he chuckles. “Jake is trying to get me to go gluten-free with him, not that I know what any of that means.” He rolls his eyes, “I don’t even think he knows what it means.”

Ginny grins. His kid sounded like the twins; always getting into something and growing up too fast. “He reminds me of my friends’ kids. They're learning all these things from their friends. Like gluten-free, raw foods, paleo, juicing,” she lists with a grimaced expression. “I didn't know those were things until I got here. I'm sure if my manag - m-my _friend_ ,” Ginny stutters. “Would have a figurative, and literal, heart attack, if she knew my mom fried chicken in lard.”

“If it's not lard, it's ain’t properly fried chicken,” he solemnly agrees with a wink.

“I knew I heard a twang in that voice,” she teases. The corner of his mouth quirks upward.

“Guilty as charged,” he drawls as he sets her plate full of food in front of her.

“I already know I’m going to love this.”

The sweet potato fries, a rich hue of russet orange - are a sight for sore eyes. She’s a Carolina girl and sweet potatoes were a main staple of her diet as much as avocados are for Californians. The fries are obviously baked but the crispy ends - dark brown and just shy of burnt - had her mouth watering, especially with the hearty drizzle of honey butter over top. She pops a sweet potato fry in her mouth and the burst of sweet, earthy flavor makes her moans out loud. She does not notice the three other occupants, her barista included, giving her heated, wide-eyed looks.

 

 

The sourdough bread is toasted until golden brown and unbelievably crunchy while still soft in the middle. It’s smeared with garlic butter - the actual good butter and not weird vegan-butter inside and out, and the bacon was thick and crispy. Coupled with the sweet and acidic heirloom tomato and crisp lettuce, she feels like for the first time in forever, that she is regaining normalcy in her life in California.

“So good.” Ginny licks honey butter from her fingers with relish after demolishing her sandwich and fries. Her pink tongue captures every salty-sweet crumb from her skin.

“I'm glad you like it,” her barista coughs, the tips of his ears pink as he watches her consume her food from the corner of his eye.

Ginny is sipping the last remnants of her green smoothie when her barista slides her bill beside her plate.

“You have a good appetite,” he chuckles when she blushes.

“I play hard, therefore I eat hard,” she replies absently while pulling out her phone in order to load the payment app.

His brow furrows. “I'm sorry, but we don't take mobile payment just yet…”

“I didn't bring my card or cash.” Her face is starting to warm. She hadn't paid for her own food for… huh, quite a long time now that she thinks about it. She doesn’t want to use the celebrity card. Not everyone follows baseball like that. She hasn’t reached that point, that celebrity - whether it be fame or infamy. It is the sort of recognition that Amelia insists that she will help her reach, not that Ginny ever wanted that for herself. “I can pay, I promise. I'll come back or I can wash dishes or sweep to prove I can pay.”

The barista gives her a look, his stormy blue eyes evaluating and contemplative.

Ginny wants to duck her head. She is suddenly reminded of walking into fancy department stores with ivory columns and plush seating. Of store associates would give her a long look. She had known some of them would follow her, and they did, and not because they wanted her autograph.

“It's fine,” he says with a shrug after a moment. He smiles, honest and sincere. “You looked like you really enjoyed the food. I'll take that praise as my payment for the time being.”

Ginny blinks, confusion laced on her face before she shakes her head. “No, I couldn't do that. You'll get in trouble with the boss.”

He looks around the cafe. The girl is still sleeping on the recliner. The graduate student has put his head down on top of the table in a temporary moment of surrender. Another person is in the corner, reading a book.

He leans forward to tell her something in private, and like before, and she automatically leans forward as well.

“Since I’m the boss, I don’t think I’ll mind if I give a pretty lady, a hungry one at that, a meal on the house.”

“Oh.“ Ginny blinks, surprised.

Before she gather her bearings and protest, a blonde Valkyrie ascends onto her. The ringing of the bell is her only warning.

“Ginny!”

“Amelia? How?”

Eliot is right behind Amelia, waving at her with his phone in his hand.

Leave it to Amelia to invade her privacy by tracking her down via her phone.

“Do you know how long we were looking for you?” Amelia hisses as she ushers Ginny out of the cafe and into the waiting vehicle.

“Wait, Amelia - I need to - I need to pa - “

Ginny is unable to finish her sentence because Eliot is beside her, updating her on the happenings of her social media in the brief three hours she’s been away from technology - apparently there’s speculation that she’s been getting close to Usher as of late. Meanwhile, Amelia is two steps ahead of her, talking into her phone - probably to the same sponsor from earlier since she’s using her business voice. In the far distance, Ginny can see a caravan of what looks like paparazzi heading their way.

She could imagine the headlines: The Padres’ Pitcher Pitches a Fit and Leaves Without Paying.

And Ginny waits with bated breath. She expects her unpaid bill to be a headline on ESPN.

Surprisingly, despite the fact she’s checked and double checked when time allowed, there are no headlines of her running out on her bill.

There is a headline of her shutout game with the Colorado Rockies. On tabloid magazines, there’s discussion that she may be the distant cousin of Michael Jordan via his father’s side.

It’s two weeks before she can head back to that serene little cafe she stumbled upon by accident. Her delay is mostly because she's touted around like a zoo animal to sponsorship parties and media tours after her winning game of the week. The guys are finally taking a liking to her. Or, at the very least, getting used to her.

She finishes her workout with Blip and Lawson and decides to go on a run. She’s been craving a green smoothie for the past two weeks.

She runs with a destination in mind.

Except, she may have forgotten where her destination is since she ran so aimlessly last time and Amelia whisked her away before she had time to gain a bearing on her surroundings.

Yes… she vaguely remembers passing by that townhouse with the green door.

Was it Fifth St. she crossed or Sixth St.?

The pit bull is still snoozing on the sidewalk. This time she has a ducky hat on her head. She lifts her head to give Ginny a friendly smile before resting her head back down on the ground.

Ginny turns left and aha!

That little cafe with the blue and red painted door is in sight.  

 _Beans_ is the name of the café, she notes.

Ginny pats her side where her phone is tucked. She has a new phone case that includes a card slot. She may not be able to control the news’ headlines, that was Amelia's job after all, but at least she could try to avoid including dining and dashing from being associated with her name.

She walks in and is relieved to see the owner and barista of the cafe. He is wiping down the counter and chatting with a little blond boy as the kid kicks his legs and enjoys what looks like a green smoothie.

The blond barista quickly notices her, his eyes widening in surprise before his expression smooths out to a friendly smirk.

“Welcome back.”

“Sorry about last time,” says Ginny sheepishly as she grabs a seat - the same one from last time.

“It was a slow day. It was good entertainment” he responds. “For a second there, I thought you were getting abducted.”

“What made you think otherwise?”

The little boy makes his presence known and pipes up. “You're Ginny Baker!”

For a moment dread pools in her stomach. She can see some people look up from their laptops to look in their direction.

She fidgets in her seat but her body automatically knows to force a smile on her face when in front of small children. “I am.” She leans close to him, hoping to change the topic of conversation, “And you must be Jake.”

Big blue eyes stare up at her in star struck. He looks incredibly similar to his father, especially with that mop of messy blond hair. “How did you know?”

Ginny nods her head in the baristas direction, “Your dad told me about you. He said that the green smoothie was your favorite.” She winks, “It's mine too, just so you know.”

“It is!” Jake bobs his head excitedly, looking at his green smoothie and then back at her. “Me and Ginny Baker like the same thing.”

“We do,” she giggles, an honest smile erupting across her face. “We are both clearly people of excellent taste.”

Speaking of, a glass of water - a slice of lemon floating atop - and a green smoothie is placed in front of her.

“I'm paying for it,” states Ginny.

“You are,” he placidly agrees. He says with a quirk of his lips,“You can really tuck it in, and I don't think my cafe can afford feeding you for free.”

He isn't being mean about it - Ginny will easily admit she has a voracious appetite. She trains at least four hours a day after all. Instead, he seems amused, impressed even that Ginny hasn't completely fallen for the typical vegan, gluten-free faux diet trends that come and go in California.

“I'm paying for last time’s as well,” she insists.

“Bossy thing, ain’t ya?’” He nods, nevertheless, relenting. She has her game face on. He even does a teasing salute and that little ball of anxiety in the pit of her stomach unfurls. He adds, “Today's special is tempura chicken fingers and a whole grain waffle with a hazelnut praline maple syrup, if you're feeling up to it.”

As if on cue, her stomach growls.

Stone ground oatmeal and fruit can only get her so far.

“Sounds good.” Ginny notices Jake’s expression, very reminiscent of the twins, and quickly adds, “Make it a double waffle.”

He looks at her skeptically.

“It's for me,” she states with finality.

She immediately serves up the spare waffle to Jake. She can see his dad is exasperated but still smiles fondly as he watches her cut up Jake’s waffle despite his son’s pout and  insistence that he's six and able to cut up his own food. By this time, he's moved seats to sit next to her and he's happily recounting to her the past games he's watched her in.

“The way that guy looked when you struck him out,” exclaims Jake with a mouth full of waffle. “It was awesome!”

Ginny remembers the very moment he was referring to vividly. The batter’s wide eyed look of surprise before he narrowed his eyes and nearly threw his bat onto the ground and walked off the field. It was especially amusing since, before the game had even started, he had bragged that he could hit whatever she threw at him.

“We watch all the Padres’ games, especially when you’re starting, right dad?”

“They're okay,” he states before walking away to attend to a client that just walked in. She can see the blush of pink forming at the nape of his neck.

“We watch them all,” repeats Jake solemnly, as if he was telling her the most important fact of his young life.

They're left alone when Jake leaves to go to the bathroom.

“You knew who I was already.”

It is a statement. She remembers Amelia’s coaching lesson – to keep her voice measured so it doesn’t have an accusatory tone to it.

“Even to a non-baseball fan, you're hard not to recognize,” he says after a pause. “Especially after like a dozen paparazzi swarm in asking about you and what you ate.” He wrinkles his nose, “They asked me if I had washed the dishes you used. Tried to offer me a hundred dollars for the ones that weren’t used.”

She gapes at him. “You didn't.”

“A hundred dollars for _each_ dish.”

He pointedly looks at her with a teasing grin. “It was tempting. A certain someone left without even a thank you.”

“You said my happy face was payment enough,” says Ginny, her hand pressed against her chest in fake hurt.

“It was,” he agrees. “Although my heart hurts that the pretty starting pitcher left without a second glance.”

“So you think I’m pretty?” She raises an eyebrow.

He splutters. “Mostly a good pitcher. Your looks are alright. Average even.” He grimaces. “I sound like a jerk to myself -  that must mean I’m at douchebag level now, aren’t I?”

“Getting there,” she quips.

They both look at one another before they burst into laughter.

He resumes cleaning and tending to the counter. Meanwhile, she watches him while sipping her water - at the way one corner of his mouth crooks higher than the other. The way his blue eyes were a little guarded but still, overall, a very sweet look - especially when directed toward his son.

“What's your name?” Ginny asks suddenly.

He pauses his movements but stating slowly, “Tommy… Tommy Miller.”

“It's nice to finally get your name Tommy Miller.” She extends her hand towards him, “My name is Ginny Baker. Thank you for serving me last time as well as today.”

Tommy grasps her hand, his palm alone nearly encompasses her entire hand. It's warm and firm and just a little callused on the fingertips. “Nice to meet you too, Ginny.”

She feels a tug on the hem of her shirt.

“And I'm Jake Miller!”

She giggles and helps him onto the stool before she offers her hand to him. “Nice to make your acquaintance, Jake Miller.”

She stays, chatting with father and son before Amelia and Al blows up her phone with texts.

“I'll be back,” says Ginny as she heads out to the car waiting for her.

The next time Ginny visits, not even a week later, she spots a plate in a decorative frame near the wall with the photographs of the café’s regulars and their little pieces of impromptu artwork. Her napkin with her doodle of Al as a fire breathing dragon is glued squarely in the middle of the plate.

Tommy grins, “Almost as good as a winning ball.”

“Almost,” she replies as she waits for him to make her a green smoothie.

**Author's Note:**

> I blame this fic solely on the Beanball ep and Ellabee15's awesome fic "I can go the distance."


End file.
